Nobody in the world is better at making genuine horrors come to life than advertising agencies. For some reason, they just have a knack for tapping into things that will stick with us, no matter if that costs innumerable mental anguish and the insertion of a cranial tapeworm into the nation just to sell their product. There was, perhaps, no greater advertising tapeworm unleashed upon this nation than Mr. Six, Six Flags' dancing geriatric that prompted most people to want to see an actual, live death on their television screens every time he popped up.
Mr. Six is one of those advertising characters that may (hopefully) never come back, but it doesn't matter. He's done his damage. He's a leaky nuclear reactor; once that shit oozes out into the world, it's there for good. Seeing Mr. Six just one time on your screen shared the same meltdown side effects, where I'm pretty sure you could grow a third eye if you stared for too long. A third eye that would always be looking towards the advertising agency that created this monster, like the Eye of Sauron, burning with hatred and fueled by an insatiable quest for vengeance.